Slip, sliding on the ice today. Rumor has it that we are on track for getting 5-7 inches tonight. I have coffee and milk and enough kibble to not have to go anywhere. Oh, that’s right…you don’t know about Lucy.

Lucy (working middlename is Littlestar) is my new dog. You heard me grieve over my golden boy, Mitch, and how crushed I was to lose him just as we had all gotten comfortable with each other. I didn’t want time to drag between losing my heart and getting another dog to take the space. So, I was looking on Puppyfinder.com and searching for airdales in the area. I noticed that there was a way to dial in age in the search bar—and up popped Lucy. She was/is a 4 year old Airedale who was part of the family and they had to get rid of her as her “person” couldn’t be around her any more. Turns out, there is much more there to unpack. I started to text with the owner and after a bunch of back and forths, she agreed to let me “rehome” the dog. Getting her was another issue…as the owner lives in North Carolina. But with our going to a wedding in Maryland, we agreed to meet closer to her in Richmond, Virginia. This was at the end of October 2019.

The hand-off was bizarre and after relating details to my new doggie support team, they have reinforced how wrong it all was. We met in a dog park because Lucy is a bit “shy” around cars etc. Dog Parks, according to my vet, are designed to keep vets in business. One never knows what is going to go down between dogs, their owner, off leash—put that in tumble dry and see where it takes you. Sleepless—-this will keep the wheels spinning. Lucy was not the tiny thing we saw in the pictures, but 90 lbs of shaking fear. She was hoisted into our car, shaking and burrowing her head into the seat back until we stopped to spend the night. She was good on the leash and was solidly walking with me until we got to our room…when she got into the bathtub and did not budge whatsoever. Poor Lucy was an emotional mess. Rob wisely cited that “this was not a rehome, but a rescue”. I concur. I was really regretting my impulsivity and worrying about how this might not be a good thing. Seriously worrying.

Basically, Lucy did not eat, drink or communicate for the better part of month. The first few days she spent in the tub here at 2 Camp. She kept her tail tucked tightly between her legs such that I had to ask the vet if it was broken.. She saw the vet—with the vet encouraging me not to worry as they have seen dogs like her, and it takes time and they saw a loving animal. And so it began. She had never been on stairs…and now she adores them and for fun climbs them up and down as part of her daily routine. She now is my dog. Lucy is on better dog food and has lost (less volume) 20 lbs and counting. She now has a shape. She has been spayed, microchipped, clipped and cleaned. She has had a haircut and her coat is improving. She wags her tail for me…and her place of sanctuary is my office whether I am there or not. She is beginning to unfurl and show me her humor, her spunk and her smarts. I am optimistic.

And she loves popcorn. Caught a piece this morning as i tossed it to her.

We also have appointments with Russ. Russ Hollier is a dog whisperer from Cortland. I figured Russ could help Lucy become more of the dog she is…and once we are there, to work on basic training to improve our relationship. While Lucy gets a little closer, or lets Russ pat her (big deal, Lucy had some bad, traumatic men in her life) or reward her with a squeeze of cheese from a can— Russ tells me about his other dog customers and the things they are doing from work helping super anxious people to a person with disabilities whose dog is part of their support team. it is all very heartening and lightens my mind to know that Russ is changing lives both canine and human through his interaction and training.

We all need dogs during the age of Trump. They keep things real—and she pushes me to pay attention and support them. Lucy and I have a way to go…but she isn’t going anywhere and hopefully, the only place she will be going is vertical.

Fingers crossed.

Our Shady Grove died—and it was a very sad time. I didn’t know I missed her so much—but I did. So, I started to look for dogs often driving to the SPCA to have the dog that was posted online, gone before I got to even say hello. This was multiple years of “almost” getting a new, used dog. So this went on and on—and I wasn’t having any luck. I decided that the only course was to get a puppy and raise it. After some research, I found a great goldendoodle breeder nearby and put money down on a pup and waited. I wont go into detail on that thread, but as everything seems to be—it was not simple.

Kitty came to visit and she participated on an “almost” moment with a rescued havanese/maltese mix who was adorable. But it was “almost” with no cigar. She and I were crushed. So, she started talking it up in NYC to all of her friends.. One friend knew of a dog who was “coming up”—the brother to his dog (also rescued)—and would we be interested. After about a minute, the answer was absolutely- and that is how Mitchy and the Cassettis connected. Only thing is that I needed to drop everything to go get him. And I did.

Mitch (Mitch was named Mitch by his first owner) grew up in Queens, living in a small one bedroom apartment. After meeting him, I was stunned to thing this cuckoo bananas dog lived in a tiny apartment with a very circumspect life. I get ahead of myself.

Kitty’s friend picked him up in Queens and drove him (and Mitchy’s sister for company) to Reading PA where he was visiting family. Kitty’s friend was awesome— trying to get him in some order, trimming hair and getting himin working order. prior to their trip to meet me. I drove down from Tburg—taking a very fun bunny route (not the highway, but the biway) to Reading through coal country. I checked into a hotel in downtown with a convention of the most lovely Christian people—all dressed up and so kind. I had dinner at the hotel bar watching a few of my Christian friends slam a few cocktails—and waited. At 9 p.m. the phone rang and the message was for me to be downstairs for the pickup/drop off. Up pulled this little orange car filled with two over energetic airedales —straining at leashes. I handed over the rehoming fee and was handed a leash and off my new friends went leaving me with this maniac, Mr Mitch. He was unlike anything I had ever seen—-vigilant, funny and smart. Too smart.

Mitch and I went up to the room at the hotel —I had set it up with food/water etc. and he was franticly checking all the windows and doors (and mirrors as they are kind of doors) all night. Poor devil—it was this circle of windows and doors, windows and doors and then strange sounds with this strange lady. It was not a restful night for either of us. Morning came at 5 a.m when I told Mitch we were going home, and we did. He got in the car and was stunned at the smells as we drove through the countryside to the lake. As soon as we got home, I got him set up—and clipped to a long leash around a chairleg on the porch, both of us passed out with the lake breezes wafting over us. That was day one.